


Rocky Road

by SomewhereApart



Category: CSI: Miami
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-02-09 04:52:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1969725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomewhereApart/pseuds/SomewhereApart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of Resurrection, Eric goes to check on Calleigh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rocky Road

Eric wasn’t the man Calleigh was expecting to see on the other side of her door that night. She’d been hoping for Jake, silly as it was. She shouldn’t have, she knew, but her heart was bruised and she’d never been very good about doing what she should with Jake. Not until today. So who could blame her, really, that she was disappointed to open the door and find Eric standing there, one hand holding a single pink tulip, the other a plastic grocery bag.

She didn’t say anything at first, just stood there in sweatpants and a ratty old t-shirt – Jake’s ratty old t-shirt – and stared at the flower in his hand. It warmed and iced her heart in tandem. Tulips were her favorite, pink was her favorite, and he had his best kind smile for her. But she was too tired for seduction, too weary of heart to take a leap or fend off an advance, and it offended her some that he would swoop in to make his move while she was still picking up the pieces of her heart. It was rude, she knew, but they could handle it, so she didn’t bother to say hello, greeting him instead with a flat question and a nod of her head. “What is that?’

“It’s a tulip.” His smile had faltered now; he just looked confused. That made two of them, then.

“I know that, Eric. That’s not what I meant.” She still had one hand on the door, her body effectively keeping him outside. “What are you doing here?”

“You seemed down today, after… after everything.” After Jake left, she knew, and if she’d had more energy her blood would have boiled. “I thought I’d come by and see how you were. Thought the flower might make you smile. Guess I was wrong…”

“Don’t get snippy with me,” she snipped, the burn of hypocrisy just making her feel worse.

“I didn’t…” he answered slowly, on guard now. Good. That was good; that was fine with her. “Can I come in?”

“As what?”

“I…” His brow furrowed in a way that she wished she didn’t find adorable. “I don’t understand the question.”

“Are you coming in as my friend or as a guy who wants to date me?” Well there it was, then. On the table. Out there. Hanging in the air between them. She was too tired to mince words, too tired to… something. Anything. His mouth opened slightly, his jaw shifting as he weighed his answer. It took him just long enough that Calleigh sighed and moved to shut the door in his face, unsurprised when his hand came up to block it an hold it open. Unsurprised, but irritated. “Eric—“

“Who do you need me to be?”

“Who you are.”

“Well, Calleigh, I’m both. Okay? I’m both of those guys, so just tell me which one you want to let in and I’ll leave the other one outside.”

She wished she could, wished so badly that she could tell him which of those men she wanted, but the truth was both. She wanted to let both of them in. Into her life, into her heart, to soothe the ache there and make her feel safe and protected and settled like she knew he would. But not yet. Not today. And at the moment, she was feeling bitchy and female and frustrated with her own feelings, so she said one of those stupid things that women say, played those games she hated herself for playing. “Which do you think I need?”

He studied her for just a moment this time before surmising, “I think you need a friend.”

The sudden rush of emotion was unexpected, the way her heart squeezed until tears welled in her eyes and she had to duck her head to hide them as she stepped back to let him in. Yes, she thought. Tonight she really needed a friend. Shutting the door behind them, she took a deep, steadying breath, thanking whatever deity was up there that he didn’t touch her and nudge loose the dam holding her emotions in check. When she turned to him again, she managed to muster up a shaky smile, taking the flower from him. “Tulips are my favorite,” she offered in a kind of apology.

“I know.” Apology accepted. His lips curved, just a little, just enough.

“Pink is my favorite.”

“I know.” It was softer, sweeter, and she thought for a second that if he were Jake he’d be smug. But he wasn’t.

“You’re kind of my favorite,” she whispered, smiling now too, just a little, just enough. And then he chuckled at her, and her smile spread.

“Mutual.”

“What’s in the bag?”

“Rocky Road.”

It was her turn to laugh, a little unsteady as her chin quivered through her smile. “You’re definitely my favorite.”

They stood there for a moment, grinning at each other. His sympathetic and pleased, hers grateful but tentative. And then he stepped forward, brushed her hair behind her ear, and she remembered the way Jake had touched her. The thousands of ways Jake had touched her, and her heart ached and twisted. It was ridiculous to be so torn up over something that had essentially ended months ago, but she knew better than to think she could control her own heart. Oh, she could _act_ like she was in control, but she knew better than to believe she’d convinced herself. Case in point: the way her heart clenched and thudded when Eric asked her if she needed a hug. God, yes, she thought, but her dignity screamed a protest.

“No, I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.” She wished he’d stop touching her, wished he’d take his hand off her jaw and release the echo of Jake and heartache. “If you hug me, I’ll cry.”

“You’re allowed.” It was so simple, and yet so complicated. She didn’t want to cry, not here, not with him. She just wanted to get through the night and wake up with the same resolute acceptance that she’d woken up with for months now. She was fine, she was strong, and heartache was temporary.

Calleigh shook her head and took a step back. “I don’t want to. Go get two spoons and meet me in the living room?”

Because he was Eric, and he loved her (yes, she knew, of course she knew, it damned near screamed out of his pores when he was around her), he let her lie and mirrored her retreat, assuring her he’d just be a minute.

Calleigh took that minute to steady herself and curl up on the far end of her sofa, burying her legs under the afghan her granny Clara had knitted for her birthday when she was ten and weaving her fingers into the yarn.

Eric returned a moment later, and she wordlessly took the spoon he offered, and plunged it into the softening ice cream. She left it in her mouth, upside down, the tang of metal mixing with the sweetness of chocolate on her tongue as she reached for the remote.

“What are we watching?”

“DVDs,” she muffled around ice cream and flatware and he laughed at her before reaching to pull the spoon from her lips himself. She let him, munching the single almond she’d gotten in her spoonful as she fiddled with the menu.

“Movie?”

“TV. The West Wing.” She hit play, then shifted closer to him and reached for her spoon again as the TV screen went black, stark white letters announcing the episode title: “AND IT’S SURELY TO THEIR CREDIT.”

Eric made a noise of protest. “I’ve watched this with you; I can’t keep up. The dialogue is too fast.”

Calleigh settled her head on his shoulder as the teaser started, dipping once again into the carton of ice cream balanced on his thigh. “I believe you said you couldn’t keep up because I kept talking during the episode,” she reminded.

Eric shifted against her, working his arm from between them and resting it over her shoulder. “Yeah, well.”

Snorting into her ice cream, she lifted her head to look at him. “That’s your witty retort? ‘Yeah, well’?”

“Uh huh.”

Calleigh studied him for a moment, gauged how close their mouths were, deemed it far enough to be safe, then aimed a shot she knew would end the discussion. “Jake hates this show.” She watched his face shift, go cautiously neutral as he looked back at her. He was trying to find the right reaction, the right response. Clearly, he was having trouble sussing her out. Perfect. Tilting her head back down, she told him, “You missed the teaser.”

The mention of Jake had won her the discussion, but it had also recalled the heart she couldn’t control, and she frowned again, drawing a swirling path along the top of the ice cream with her spoon. She felt his lips fall on her hair a moment later.

“I meant it when I said I’d be your friend, Cal,” he murmured to her. “We can talk if you want.”

“I can’t talk to you about Jake.”

“You can talk to me about anything.”

She brought her head up again, ignoring the kink in her neck as she frowned at him. “Still?”

“Always.” The reassurance was a balm on her aching heart, and brought the shadow of a smile across her face for a brief moment. “That’ll never change, Cal.”

“Everything changes.”

“Not always for the worse.”

Breaking eye contact, she tilted her head down again, pressing her face against his shoulder. “I don’t want to think about it tonight. I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to sit on my couch and watch TV and eat ice cream with my best friend.”

“Okay.” He gave her shoulder a light squeeze, then began a slow, lazy back-and-forth of his thumb over the worn cotton there. “But if you change your mind…”

“You’ll be the first person I call.” She shifted again, getting comfortable and settling in just as the beginning credits faded. She stayed there until they’d finished the DVD, and most of the ice cream, gleaning comfort from the familiar smell of his cologne, the warmth of his skin beneath his shirt. Only twice in the three hours did she close her eyes and pretend he was someone he wasn’t.


End file.
